“The Sun Goes Down but Never Out”
By Mallory Rader
If I could swallow the world,
let it swoosh back-and-forth between
my cheeks, sting my taste buds raw,
hit the back of my throat and cough it back out,
I’d save only beech trees in the evening.
A mist of rain trickling from the top
leaves down their center of gravity to
the foundation. I’d choose the way
the lowering sun hits off chosen branches,
casting a blue-gray shade against absolute green.
I’d lie down, let the roots soak me up as water,
and feel like I am full-statured, tall, deciduous.